Imaginary Numbers
by NellietheMarvelous
Summary: First chapter is a tag to 5x14. Valentine's Day and the significance of the drawer. This entire collection is related to Number One and Two Hearts. All the M-rated moments that could have (did) happen.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Absolutely not mine. Nope.  
**

**A/N: Another little Saturday Smut fic. For anyone who reads Number One and Two Hearts, this was the night their son was conceived. Basically. Since conception is a process and all that but this is the night that led to his conception. ;) Also a tag to 5x14. Yep...if you never did the math, then their first kid was a product of Valentine's Day. And it was completely by accident that it happened like that.  
**

There's still a ball in her chest, a tight knot of nervousness that is slowly dissipating as she tugs at her clothes - being replaced by heat buzzing through her veins. Joy filling her limbs, and arousal dusting over her skin, making it sensitive to just the thought of Castle's touch. She's left him, standing like a speechless fool in front of _his _drawer because that's how she feels. Excited, nervous, and slightly worried that her gift wouldn't be enough. But it is. It's perfect. And now she just wants him. In her bed, completely bare of everything, skin on skin.

It's Valentine's and she's in a relationship with her writer, her partner. The man she's now thinking of, the hands that belong to him that touch her so freely, so openly. Rough against her flesh, velvet smooth all at the same time. And just the thought of what she _knows _those fingers can do sends a hard shiver down her spine, or maybe it's from the sudden loss of her shirt.

She watches him from beneath her lashes, the smug smile that takes over his mouth as he raises his arm, tugs at the end of his sleeve. She wants his mouth, wants to taste his lips, trace along the seam with her tongue until he opens up and lets her in. Wants to feel his burning kisses over every inch of her body, needs it. Just her thoughts have her on the edge, jumping to get out of her skin, to feel him hard and pressed against her.

She feels his eyes as he watches her for a moment, gaze darkening as she pushes her pants down over her hips and then he's struggling, trying to get out of his shirt and she's biting her lip, trying not to laugh at the thought of him being stuck in his clothes while she's already half way out of hers. Until she realizes what that means, the longer he takes, the longer she has to wait in the bed without him - without his hands pressing into her, without the heat of his skin burning against hers, without him heavy and crowding over her, without the mouth she wants a taste of.

She's already squeezing her thighs together, alleviating some of the pressure that's building much too quickly for her liking. He's still tugging, staring at his sleeve, when she presses her knees into the mattress, crawls over the blanket. _Meet me in the bed. _She's actually regretting those words, her eyes on him now as he glances over, flashes a slightly embarrassed grin her direction. She meets it with a little extra motivation, her fingers trailing down her chest, over the scar, dipping down the circle her navel.

He stops. Stands utterly still and she wonders if this feels the same for him, if the idea of being inside of her sends a flushed heat to take over his skin, a pressure that grows to the point of uncomfortable. Does he feel it? Her chest heaves out a breath, index finger slipping over the waistband of her panties and she hears him. A low rumble that resembles her name slipping through pair of lips she's staring at.

"Having a _little_ trouble, Castle?" It's easy to tease him. Always has been but she knows he'll get her back for this - already waiting for it, something thick and wet settling low in her midsection when he falters. She knows what this does to him. "Need some help?"

"No."

"Are you sure? Maybe your fingers are just too _big _- mine are smaller and I've been told I'm pretty good with them." She doesn't even mean for it to sound quite as salacious as it does but it's enough to spur him into action.

He abandons the shirt, hands flying down to the zipper of his pants. A flurry of movement, quick hands and fabric rustling. Her palms itch, not satisfied with her own skin, wanting to help reveal his. To caress, grab, pinch at him until he's a thrumming mess, no longer coherent. As much as her body craves release, she wants to make him sweat, pleasure him in ways she knows drive him to edge. She wants to make him a bumbling fool incapable of words, incapable of anything more than melting into her.

But the moment he's naked from the waist down, she's not so sure her body will cooperate this time. Her thighs clench, hips shifting towards him as he climbs up from the bottom of the bed. Slithering over her, shirt brushing against her, making her eyes flutter. She surges up into him, a hand at his neck, the other bunching fabric at his shoulder, her body arching to meld into his, lips seeking. His mouth open, devastating against hers. Taking her as a prisoner, a hostage to his touch.

The fingers that trail up her side, nails raking over her ribs, brushing along the cup of her bra cause a sharp burst of arousal, a pulse between her legs. An ache she wants to soothe. He's the only one who does. Already hard against her, she can feel him, doesn't even pull away to look. Doesn't need to. Maybe it's a little strange but she's already got his body memorized. Every inch of it. The scar he has on his back from his young daredevil days, the lone freckle on the back of his ear, the lines of his palms, the curve in his spine. She's traced all of it with her hands, her mouth.

She's not in control this time. He is. He makes it known with a harsh bite at her bottom lip, a swipe of his tongue over the abused flesh. Payback for her taunting. The way he pushes his hips into hers, grinding against her with each suddenly soft kiss he ghosts over her jaw, along her chin, down her neck, it all just proves that she's not winning. And maybe she's okay with it this time. The night is young, she'll push him back, take over his body, make him writhe but not right now.

Right now, she'll enjoy this, let him have his moment. Arch her spine as his kisses move lower, gentle nips of his teeth along the soft flesh of her breast. His fingers tugging the cup down to reveal his prize. A flash of a smirk before his mouth closes over the nipple and her eyes slam shut. She reaches blindly, awkwardly tugging at the proximity of buttons, wanting his skin beneath her fingertips. But he makes it difficult with hot wet lips sucking at her, teeth barely scraping.

"Castle," Nothing more than a moan of his name, needing and pleading. She wants more. He's being soft. Easy. His hips holding hers down, pinning her in place as she wiggles against him. Eyes opening, she watches him, tries to collect herself enough to push him away but he's gentle, laving his tongue over her nipple, loving and tender. Driving her crazy, knowing she's already waiting and she hates him.

She gives up on his shirt, unable to reach and pushes her chest further into his mouth and palm as her hand slips behind to unsnap the clasp of her bra. He tugs it down, pushes it away from her skin, finally biting down hard enough to make her cry out, legs straining, hips undulating. Trying to find relief to the uncomfortable slick pressure that's coiling, spinning, tightening.

One sharp burst and he's back to soft, to stroking over her with a warm tongue, open lips, trailing over to the scar between her breasts. Spending more than enough time tracing over it. He doesn't do this often. Not anymore but he is now and she_ knows _what it means for them. What the slide of wetness over the marred flesh signifies. Serious. He's serious. He's not playing.

She shivers against him, fingers finding purchase in his hair, palm resting over his ear, his name a sigh on her lips. He's slowing it down. Making them become something more than a frenzied raw encounter. Even though she's not against the idea, he is. But her need isn't lessening with his slow path down her stomach, it doesn't ease when he nudges his nose into her navel. It becomes more.

A strong intense burn that ignites when his thumbs hook into her panties, drag them down her legs, gliding back up the insides of her thighs as she kicks free of the scrap of cloth. Maybe it's better like this, a slow simmer, the caress of his hands over her. The thumb that brushes along her folds, stroking over her, drawing a moan from her lungs before abandoning her completely, moving up to trace over her hip. His face suddenly filling her line of sight. The lines buried in his skin and the dark storm in his eyes.

"Kate," She barely hears it over the blood rushing in her ears, the pound of her heart - maybe that's his? She's not sure anymore. She rests her hand on his chest, feels the racing thuds beneath. Both of theirs, probably. A staccato rhythm. He's not in a playful mood like she thought, not now and she's the one who cranes her head, lifts into him to press a kiss to his chin, his lips puckering against her nose.

She's not sure how or why it became this. How it turned from her inviting him - with seduction lacing every word - to meet her in the bed to this stroke of his hands, the feel of his fingers as they cup her, slip easily through her moist flesh, two sliding in and curling up. Making her jolt, body pushing into his, hands finally undoing the buttons that keep his skin from hers. She falters when he strokes inside, slow and easy. She's too wound up for this, tells him with a whimper that she doesn't need it. Doesn't need to be coaxed along.

"Next time." She lets it flow into the cavern of his mouth, hands sliding his shirt down from his shoulders, loosening the tight fabric at his wrists with an expert flick of hers and all barriers disappear. Nails moving to scape down his chest, a hint of a smile playing at her lips when he groans, leaves her body completely for a brief moment.

She's almost disappointed, almost frowns but then he's back, chest so close that with each breath her breasts brush against him. Thighs parted, one leg wrapping around, her heel digging into his ass to push him forward. To make him slide against her, he loses control for that split second, thrusts into her. Both moaning as he slips inside. An ease to it, making them both react. Her body surging up, cradling him as he pushes down, filling her, stretching.

His body is giving him away and she's taking it. The slight tremble in his arms, the softness in his kiss, the way he sucks her lip between his as he sets the pace. A gentle rocking that has her locking both legs around his waist, trying to find more friction. It doesn't come. Just the sweet torture of him. He's staring at her, eyes wide open as his mouth leaves hers and she's compelled to do the same, stare back even when he rubs in just the right way and her chest heaves. Air leaving her lungs as he raises a hand to cup her cheek, resting his weight against her. She doesn't close her eyes, not yet. Not when he's looking down at her as if she's everything.

He's begging her, with his body - the sway, the gentle thrusts, the way he stops, starts again with a a little more force behind it - and with his eyes to understand. She doesn't. Not at first. Not until he nudges his nose over hers in an eskimo kiss, whispers her name like a mantra into her parted lips. She gets it. It hits her full force, a crushing in her chest as she races for the finish line, body already beating her mind.

The drawer. This is all because of the drawer. The implication it has on their relationship. The fact that she's putting her time and effort into this to make it work. He's a romantic mess above her, within her, because it's Valentine's Day and she just pushed them into the next phase of their relationship. And she loves him. She adores him.

Hips meeting his, give and take, a slightly quicker thrust - her doing - and he's dropping his mouth to hers. Making her boil over, an overflow of the emotion he's brought into this. The sensation he creates, the burn in her skin, the feel of him sliding in and pulling back out too slowly. She swallows his groan when her nails bite at his shoulders and her muscles clench around him. Let's out a deep throaty _Oh_ when he twists his hips, slips his hand down to brush over her clit, help her along. He's close, she can tell. It was never meant to last long and she really doesn't mind when he gets his finish before she gets hers but he does.

This isn't one of those times. She's already there, with or without his hand adding to the spring that's tightening into an almost unbearable ache. She steals his kiss, buries her face in his neck, clutching him tighter, pressing her entire body into his, trapping his arm between them, her spine arching, muscles tensing as she lets it crash over her. A wave of stunned pleasure, body unprepared for it. A pulse. A fluttering around him as she comes. Hard.

A haze settles, a pleasant buzz fogging over her brain, limbs heavy as she melts back into the mattress. Eyes opening on a smile when she hears the rumble from his chest, feels his body stutter to a stop, pushing into her, straining to be as close - as deeply within her as possible, head dropping to rest against hers.

She recovers faster than he does. Finds her words before his muscles ever relax.

"All this for a drawer, huh? Can't wait till your birthday." And even though she's teasing and he huffs out something similar to a chuckle, pressing a quick kiss to her lips, she knows it's more than just a drawer. They both do.

And before the night is anywhere near over, she lets him know that she understands the significance, why he's so amazed. With her mouth wrapped around him, tongue twisting, cheeks hollowing, his fingers fighting the sheets and her name slipping from his lips, she makes sure he knows that she's in this.

**a/n: And that night...is what caused Cub.  
**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Nope.**

**A/N: Random short quick Saturday Smut. In the Cub'verse. Enjoy.  
**

She's still looking at it. The newest photo of the baby growing inside her womb. The one they created and maybe it's just the thought of it being half of him and half of her. A perfect mix. Or maybe it's the memory of how their little one - the blurry black and white baby with little arms and legs - came to be that has her cheeks warming. A heat settling in her bones as she shifts in the passenger seat. It's also just this car. The rev of the engine, the way it _rides_. She loves cars, loves his car. This beautiful Ferrari with the horsepower and the purring beneath the hood. She puts a stop to her car related brain ramble. Calming herself.

They made a baby. Something precious and new. She's always loved kids, always dreamed that maybe one day she'd eventually have one of her own but it's always been just that - a dream. Now it's real. There's a baby relying on her, needing her. Castle's baby. It always hits her at the weirdest times. Eating a sandwich with him for lunch and suddenly she's staring at him, marveling in the fact that they're doing this. Showering with him this morning and him insisting they start their own sing along which quickly escalated to some weird form of shower do's and don'ts. And in the middle of his chorus which was just a tad off key due to her hand pinching his ass, she found herself smiling. Wondering how on earth they ever made it to this point.

And now it's hitting her again. Because thinking of those moments, thinking of how they make love, how that love transpired into something bigger. Something the size of their growing baby. It knocks the air from her lungs. Has her body reacting to the very man who did this - the man who got her pregnant.

And maybe this time it's just too much for her because she's now sporting a bump. Proof that their child is growing. And he's so sweet, coming to the appointments, making sure she feels okay, always holding her hand. He's just here for her. Always. It's hot. It's really really _hot._ Perhaps not so much when she's cranky and tired and doesn't want to be touched but at the moment, all she wants is his touch. The feel of him against her skin. His lips on hers, silk and delicious.

It has her tugging her bottom lip between her teeth, holding it captive as she remembers the playful kiss he smacked against her mouth between the bridge and chorus of his shower sing along. That was the last taste she's had. She really wants more and why is it taking so damn long to get back to her apartment?

She's impatient when it comes to him. Especially with her hormones raging. She's contemplating asking him to pull over - into a parking garage or an alley. But she doesn't. Because she's clutching at a small shred of control.

It has her running her fingers over the small swell housing their baby. Trying to ignore the man next to her but he makes it difficult. She can feel his eyes on her when the car slows to a stop at a red light. She can't get enough of him. She's never really reached the point where she just doesn't _want _to have him. But something about right now when his eyes are caressing over her, his hand reaching to stroke over her stomach, it blows everything out of proportion. Blood rushing through her ears, draining, heading south as she tangles their hands, looks over at him with a smile.

Her thoughts become fragments. Nothing coherently forming other than how good and warm his fingers feel when he slides them over the bump their baby has caused. He's not paying attention to her anymore, just the road in his view but she's more aware of him now than when his eyes caught with hers. The blue curious and warm and now focused. Intent on getting them home and yes, that's exactly where she wants to go right now.

Somewhere that isn't public.

He isn't even touching her - not really, nothing more than his palm on her abdomen - but it's enough to have her buzzing, a tangle of moist fire settling between her thighs. She's watching him now, the curve of his jaw, the flex of it when someone in front of them makes a move he doesn't like, the frown that forms and the slope of his nose. She's traced every inch of him with her fingers, knows exactly how he'll react if she stretches across the console and places her lips just beneath his ear like she desperately wants to.

His thumb slips, brushing over the button of her jeans and a soft whine sneaks out before she can stop it. Just a quiet gasp of a thing but it might as well be a gunshot between them. Has his eyes darting over to her.

"You feelin' okay?"

"Yeah." He nods, his foot pressing the gas and making the car ease forward just a little faster. He clearly doesn't get it. Doesn't catch the breathy tone or the shift of her thighs. Fuck it. She's done trying.

The second he tries to pull his hand back, she's grabbing his wrist - fingers wrapped around - and she feels him tense. Feels his muscles tighten as she gives up all pretense of getting home before making it known just how much her thoughts and his simple actions have turned her on. It's really not her fault that he's being such a 'dad' to their unborn child and it really just does it for her. Makes her body pulse in anticipation.

"Kate wha -" And honestly he shouldn't be so surprised when she snaps the button on her pants, pushing against his hand until he's giving in, sliding beneath the fabric because it's not as if this is the first time they've ever sexually ventured outside of their homes.

But it is the first time she's instigating by practically shoving his hand down her pants, letting her head drop back against the seat as soon as she feels his warm thick fingers against her. The feel of the car swerving and a horn honking do absolutely nothing to deter her from rolling her hips.

"Jesus, Beckett!" He's trying to pull back, but she's clamping her thighs, making him stay, keeping his fingers against her folds for at least another minute. And he's groaning, something of pleasure and frustration that has her eyes opening, lips parting.

"Castle, I just need -"

"Pretty sure I can _feel _what you need." And she knows he isn't joking but she's not embarrassed by how easily his fingers slide against her, through her. Or the moan that floats out when he pushes the heel of his hand against her clit, rubbing just right completely on accident. He's still trying to wiggle free and it's doing nothing but push her closer to the edge. Tightening the coil in her belly. "Kate, I'm trying to drive...if you want to make it to the - will you please stop with -"

She doesn't, she thrusts her hips into his palm. Not even caring about being in traffic or the fact that she's making this drive uncomfortable for him. If the way he's shifting and the bulge forming in his lap are anything to go by. She doesn't care. She just _wants_ this. And really it's all his fault anyway.

"Don't take your eyes off the road and do not wreck this car." And that's the last coherent sentence from her mouth as she lets go of his wrist, knowing he's finally just as into this right now as she is.

He doesn't pull back. Even though she knows her zipper is digging into his skin with every stroke of his fingers. She knows that his hand is probably cramping from the angle but she'll make it up to him later. With one hand gripping the door and the other resting on her stomach, she lets her hips twitch, doesn't stop herself from closing her eyes, biting into her lip.

Praying they don't get pulled over because she knows she isn't doing a very good job of hiding exactly what's going on - the fact that she's riding his hand in the front of his Ferrari. She doesn't have free range but taking this particular vehicle was her idea and she doesn't regret it. This car makes her hot. He makes her hot. The fact that she's having his baby makes her hot.

And ultimately it isn't a surprise that her body quivers, his fingers sliding through the molten lava gathering between her thighs, curling up as his palm presses down and she's keening. A whine tearing from her throat, a jerk of her hips when he does it again and she clutches his arm, leaning forward to brace herself.

She can feel it coming, the burst that builds, the warmth intensifying, becoming a hot pulse of muscles rippling under his touch. The slick slide of hist digits against her core. The shudder it elicits and the muffled moan.

"Almost there, Kate." He's breathless, aroused and probably a bit amazed that she's really grinding down on his hand, shamelessly, in the middle of the day as if no one will notice. Her ears flush, burning, cheeks pink and heat spreading down her chest. She's _definitely_ almost there. Though maybe he's talking about home...

She doesn't give a fuck. Doesn't care at all because he's pushing up inside of her, coaxing her along and when he groans out something about his hand cramping while stroking hard and fast, her legs are clamping tight, muscles locking, hips halting their rhythm as she comes.

Both are silent, his fingers wiggling, making her whimper as she drops back into the seat. A long breath leaves her lungs, pushing the hair sticking to the corner of her mouth away. He's panting next to her, eyes still on the road when she finally looks at him but they're wide, almost blackened by his arousal and she feels a pang of sympathy.

His palm brushes against her, makes her jerk back as if he's suddenly boiling to the touch and she clamps her thighs harder, makes him stop.

"Kate, you're crushing my fingers." His voice is tight, uncomfortable and she quickly relaxes, parts her legs. He pulls away, his hand leaving the confinement of her pants, the cramped space he managed to work with.

He's a good sport. An excellent partner. A lovable, sexy, writer. Hers. And so incredibly good with those hands. There's nothing to say, so she stays quiet, leans over to press her lips against his neck, her tongue poking out to briefly taste the sweat forming on his skin. Just enough to have him shivering before she's pulling back, fixing her pants and making sure her shirt is once again covering their baby bump. _Theirs._

"I really love this car."

"The car? That's what gets you so we-" She cuts him off with a raising of an eyebrow, words rushing out in a seductive whisper. The one she knows drives him up the wall.

"Don't finish that sentence. Just get us to my place." The smirk that forms says everything he didn't and she really doesn't want to think about what's in store for her when she stumbles with him through the door.

She can't because her eyes are locking on his hand, a little embarrassed now that it's over with. Shocked she let herself get that carried away but it was so worth it. And when they do make it through her door, a tangle of limbs, lips, and tongues, she knows before he ever tugs her shirt over her head that they won't be making it any further than the entryway floor before he's pushing into her, hips meeting with every thrust as she buries her face in his neck. She lets him rule this round since she took point in the car. They won't make it to the bed and that's okay because as soon as he's easing her down, she's already arching into him and once again not giving a damn about location.

**a/n: This just somehow popped into my head today.  
**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Not owning it.**

**A/N: Welcome to Salacious Sunday. Another little M rated add on to the Cub'verse from when Beckett was pregnant with their first child. There's very little plot to these, but honestly, that's what I intended so...enjoy.**

She's been ready to leave for hours, her head aching and the lull in the case only solidifying her frustration with the day. So when she's the one to mention going home and going to bed, Castle is all too eager to make it happen. It's one of the things she loves, the look in his eye when he offers dinner first and she gives him a small smile.

A shake of her head at the elevator as he pushes the button, is enough to tell him she's not very hungry. Big lunch. His fault. Something about keeping his 'family' fed and their baby happy. Their baby. It still railroads her sometimes. That she's pregnant. Her hand ghosts over the bump, caressing in affection as the doors open and they step inside. He's bouncing lightly, jittery. She doesn't know why - maybe he's just as ready to be home with her, to be relaxing instead of chasing dead ends. But it makes her anxious, makes her grab his hand before their floor of the 12th is ever closed out of view.

She leans into him heavily in an attempt to calm him, body pressing against his chest as she lets the pounding in her skull get the best of her. He's the one that pulls her just a little closer, whispering at her temple:

"Headache?"

"A bit of one."

"You know what helps that?" And she hears it in his voice, the playful lilt and that naughty smirk. She knows exactly what he's talking about - why he's so jittery when his voice drops to that sinful - should be illegal - octave.

"Not in the elevator."

"I seem to recall a time when you - " Just to shut him up her palm settles over the front of his slacks, a squeeze to tease. Just a brief touch to startle him into silence, wipe the smug look off his face and then she's pulling back, untangling their fingers and waiting for the door to open.

But not today. No, he doesn't let her get away with it today. He has other plans, chasing her, stealing a kiss, hands trying to roam as she shoves at his shoulder. But he doesn't relent, not until his hand travels between her thighs, fingers pressing up against fabric, making her gasp and the voice in her ear. It's a promise.

"Home. When we get home." And then he's gone, retreating just as the doors open, leaving her flushed and a little breathless. For once, she's left stunned into stillness, him a few paces ahead, glancing back at her with a soft smile. "You coming, Beckett?"

* * *

This isn't quite what she'd had in mind when she teased. The fire burning beneath her skin or the quickest removal of clothing she's had in days. The shirt somewhere between the front door and the bed, pants disappearing before they made it into the room. She's the one to unsnap her bra, let it fall as his lips close over the lobe of her ear, his palms immediately caressing newly revealed skin.

But she's shoving him away with a pointed look at the slacks he still wears and he wastes no time. She hears them hit the floor just as she presses a knee into the mattress, climbing up. The warmth between her thighs bubbling, boiling, moistening when she feels his thumbs hook into her panties, drag them down. She crawls as he tugs, her palms flattening next to her pillow, eyes searching over her shoulder as he pulls her back into him, mouth at her shoulder blade, a soft kiss.

His body molds to hers, hips nestling against her, chest at her back as his teeth scrape over her neck and when she feels him, feels that very first ripple as he pushes inside, her arms fail, elbows catching her before she face plants and his arm circles beneath her stomach. His voice in her ear, a gruff 'easy' before he's straightening, hand gripping her hip, _moving_.

She forgets the ache in her head, focusing on nothing but the way he feels, the need she has. This escalated quickly and she wants it. Nothing drawn out and long minutes of teasing. Just this. Just him. Them. Yeah, she really loves being a _them. _The pulse in her temples replaced by the one between her thighs and a low moan escapes.

She pushes back into him, letting him fill her, stretch her in the most pleasurable of ways. A quick twist of her hips and a smirk over her shoulder as he stutters out a gasp. It's enough to have her doing it again, almost purring at the feel that races through her veins and has her fluttering around him. God she needed this. Needs it. And when his fingers dig into her hips, guiding her, quickening their movement, the meeting of their bodies, she wonders how she's going to make it through this pregnancy without completely exhausting herself...or him.

It's the quick and dirty of it that has her moaning, panting, unable to get enough air. Her breath hot against the pillow, elbows and knees digging into the mattress as she sways, her body listing with every sharp drive of his hips, every slick slide of him between her thighs, into her core. The way her head drops when he swears, forehead meeting the pillowcase, lips parting, has her fingers clutching desperately at nothing but sheet. He's zealous. Perfect word. Perfect _him _with his groans and quick work of his hips.

The expanding he creates, the push and pull of his body into hers and she's already close, wants nothing more than to jump over the cliff into oblivion. A sweet descent. Her muscles already tightening, air leaving her lungs on a gasp when his thrusts become powered, sharp. Roughening just enough to have her rocking back against him faster, harder. And it's the sound of his moan echoing and surrounding her, the vulgar and salacious wet as he pushes into her, and the sudden shift of him inside as he drapes his chest to her back that has her keening.

A sharp cry, a half sob, and an ache bordering on unbearable as he slows, rocking gently. She's whimpering into the plush pillow, arms shaking and knees almost giving out as she mumbles incoherently - series of words that don't make any sense and one that does, 'no'. She needs him, needs the quick sharp plunge, not this. But he's ignoring her, mouth poised at the top of her spine and lips opening against her damp skin as the pressure in her loins amplifies.

She tries to fix it, make it more, get the rhythm back by wiggling her hips but he nips the flesh at her shoulder, groaning, his invasion still easy, steady, gentle. And she barely notices the scrape of his stubble, the whisper as he props himself up with one hand, the other snaking around beneath her. Fingers ghosting against the swell of her stomach, down until she buries her face in fabric at the first press to her clit, hand clutching, nails scraping at the sheets.

An '_oh god' _muffled as she pulses, tightening, a rush of piercing heat flooding her system. Her chest is heaving, heart pounding, her body barely holding itself up and it takes mere seconds for her to shatter. One well timed thrust paired with his fingers rubbing and her mouth open, a silent scream as every inch of her becomes heavy, stone, a tense state that has him strangling on her name. His groan and quake as he follows, spilling into her just as her knees give.

Bodies tangled, falling flattened against the mattress. His chest plastered to her back, her body twisted to accommodate the expansion of her middle. The fluttering inside of her stomach becoming a noticeable thing as soon as the aggressive edge of pleasure eases. Castle is panting in her ear, breath hot and rapid as they both try to catch their breath, bodies cooling.

Skin glued with sweat and it takes a long moment before she ever attempts to open her eyes. The room glowing orange as she blinks, craning her neck around to smudge a sloppy kiss to any part of Castle she can reach. The corner of his mouth is where it lands. No surprise at all when he turns, nipping softly at her lips before she can pull away.

It's awkward, the angle hurts her neck but she's still smiling into him, only turning back when the rolling in her stomach quickens. A soft noise of surprise, something akin to a quiet yelp and she feels the man at her back fill with unease.

"Did I hurt you?"

"Wha- no, no. I think the baby is trying to figure out what just happened. Rolling around or something in there." Their hands drift at the same moment, covering, smoothing, intertwining over the bump their child has caused.

"I still can't feel it."

"Mm when this little one kicks for the first time, you will." She doesn't even have to glance at him to know he's smiling at her, staring adoringly. It's something she's used to now. "You know, this isn't what I had in mind when I told you I was ready to go home and jump in bed."

"Shouldn't have started all that groping in the elevator."

"Me? No, that was you."

"What, no! You had my pants half undone before we made it to the lobby." Her eyebrows raise at his account, not remembering it quite the same way. "Okay, maybe not quite that far but it was really your fault. All that _stuff _you were doing."

"Castle, I didn't even touch you." It's a lie. They both know it.

"No _of course not_, you were too busy shoving your chest in my face."

"Okay I don't know what fantasy world you're living in today but I did not shove my -"

"Really, not even when you were leaning across my chair because you just _had_ to have the vic's phone records?" She bites her lip, remains quiet for a few seconds as she stares at their hands, the way his thumb strokes over her skin. The swell of her chest with each breath she takes and okay, alright, she'll give him this _one. _

"I'll admit that I might have done that but it was completely unintentional. It's not my fault that my boobs are bigger now." The hum that rumbles in her ear tells her he's not so convinced and she loves this - the playful side of their relationship. The way they can do this, be in it together and just have fun and relax after a long day.

"Oh trust me, I am not complaining."

"Mm, yeah, bet not." He nuzzles her neck, making her shiver, goosebumps rising. "Behave. I want to get some things done tonight."

"What am I in for? Cooking, cause I thought we could order in. No, wait, please don't tell me that this is going to turn into one of those nights where you spend hours reading and I'm left playing wii alone." She eases his mind with a shake of her head and a kiss to his jaw. Her mouth moving against his skin, the syllables of the words imprinting into him.

"Baby names, Castle and if you're good..." He can fill in the blanks.

**a/n: Check me out on twitter: Nellie_Rai  
And if you like books/movies/music visit me here at strippingminds tumblr com (replace the spaces with dots)**


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